


The Walking Cure

by arbitraryspace



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Character Study, F/F, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-10
Updated: 2011-01-10
Packaged: 2017-10-14 15:51:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/150931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arbitraryspace/pseuds/arbitraryspace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So two intergalactic travellers step into a bar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Walking Cure

**Author's Note:**

> Written at the prompting of LJ's mind_the_tardis.

The Doctor's got an awful lot of years on him, for a bloke who insists on wearing trainers everywhere, so it makes sense that he's got an awful lot of talents. Donna's seen him talk circles around used car salesmen and hack supercomputers like they're sudoku puzzles. There's no one Donna would rather have around to do all the maths and wave the magic space wands.

The Doctor's an absolute rubbish holidaymaker, though, so when he starts geeking out over the x-tonic tech at the Leisure Palace, Donna is well pleased to be rid of him. Poking around at the guts of the mainframe should keep him busy for at least a few hours. Show him an unfamiliar programming language and he's like a little boy with a bucket of lego.

Christ, how did she become best mates with such a nerd?

“This seat taken?”

There's only one stool free at the poolside bar, and Donna slides onto it before anyone can raise an objection.

“No. It's not taken,” the woman to her left says, as Donna flags down the bartender.

“Donna Noble,” Donna introduces herself.

“Sky Silvestry,” the woman responds, on autopilot. There's a flatscreen playing scenes from some kind of seahorse water polo match. Sky is looking at it without really watching. Hard to say why she bothers at all.

Her pantsuit doesn't make a lot of sense either. This may be a few thousand years in the future, but fashion doesn't look to have changed all that much, so Donna isn't sure why this person is sporting workwear in the middle of a luxury resort complex. It's a bit of a downer, all told. Donna'd always aspired to be a rich, successful traveller, and here she is looking at one, and the woman's all frumpy clothing, and dark circles under the eyes, and chipped white nail-polish. It's frustrating to see someone living Donna's old dream so badly. Sky keeps fidgeting with her hands, rubbing the knuckle of her ring finger, as though--

Ah.

The robo-mixologist floats over, so Donna places an order.

“Gin and tonic. One for me, and one for my new friend here.”

The robot beeps acknowledgement and starts slinging the booze. Sky Silvestry finally stops staring past the fish people with their little glowing ball.

“Excuse me?”

The cocktails are perfectly uniform, and served in cut sapphire tumblers. Donna picks hers up and raises it in a toast.

“Here's to the divorce.”

Sky frowns down at her drink, like she's trying to divine her future in the lay of the ice cubes. “I'm here on business. It's not a divorce.”

And it's possible that Donna's misread the situation. It's possible that some things _have_ changed over the course of however many thousand years, and that she's not playing reverse-bridesmaid to a clumsy new single, the way she has with a dozen different women before this.

“Sorry, I didn't mean—”

“Separation. It's a separation,” Sky interrupts her.

She looks pretty surprised to have said it, now that she's got the words out. She downs a whole half of her glass of gin, and Donna is assured that all is right with her instincts, if not the world. She was right to start this woman off with the hard liquor. People's sorrows don't change all that much – not when they're Roman, or covered with fish scales, or gallivanting across the galaxy like it's no different from taking the train to Blackpool.

“Right,” Donna says. “Trust me, you're better off not dwelling on it. 'Cos I've been there – found out my fiancee was cheating, a while back – and let me tell you, dwelling on it only makes you sad and boring. You lie around like a big lump and spend all your time thinking of the things you're not.”

“You think I'm sad and boring?”

Donna shakes her head.

“I think you're on a really beautiful, dangerous planet that you're not playing a lick of attention to,” Donna says, as kindly as possible, “and that there are all kinds of things to see and do, here, and that a gorgeous single lady like you is in just the right place to have an adventure.”

That was what she'd done, after foolishly turning down the Doctor, and that had gone _amazing_ , if she did say so herself. When she played the plucky heroine for long enough, eventually it turned out to be true. That would have held even if the Doctor hadn't returned.

“You do.”

“You're bloody right I do.” Donna preens. “When it comes to adventures, I'm becoming a bit of an expect.”

“If I'm here... maybe I might as well.” Sky finishes up her drink, and scrawls something on a the dark blue bar napkin. Her breath is shaky, like maybe she's scared, a little, but she soldiers on through her nerves like a proper executive. “If you like, I could tell you about it when I get back. You being the expert on adventures, you might be able to think of something else I'd like to do.”

Sky gets up, and Donna congratulates herself on a job well done. It goes to show that Donna's been spending too much time with the Doctor, when it takes her a full minute to parse what Sky meant by leaving behind a note with her room number.


End file.
